


Dollhouse For A False God

by aliensinflowercrowns



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Beholding!Martin, Cat Theft, Lonely!Martin, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Body Horror, Monster!Martin, Unhealthy Relationships, Web!Martin, a few minor character deaths are references, canon divergence after episode 142, canon typical spiders, capitalization abuse, kind of dubcon kissing, martin is the manager now, martin is very OP in this and you know what that's okay, this is kind of sad and also a bit fucked up whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 02:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19984363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensinflowercrowns/pseuds/aliensinflowercrowns
Summary: After the events of Ny-Alesund, Martin decides that Jon can no longer be trusted with his safety, so he takes things into his own hands.





	Dollhouse For A False God

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after episode 142 came out and then finished it after episode 147 came out. so have me being emo about these monster boys. be warned that this is def not like a happy lovey good relationship fic.

_Why can’t he just stay_ safe _, for ten minutes_? 

_Why. Can’t he just. Stay. Safe. For ten. Minutes?!_

These are the words that have been rattling around in Martin’s brain for the past week. An unintentional break in front of Daisy. A small leak in the emotional dam he’d been working so hard to build. A show of weakness. 

But really. Why can’t he just _stay safe_ for _ten minutes_? 

Martin knows why. Even without the influence of the Eye, that’s not who Jon is. Jon, no matter how much he may protest it, is an act first think later kind of person. He will always run headfirst in to danger if he thinks there is even the possibility it might help him learn something. 

This fact is emphasized to Martin when Jon comes back to the Institue from Ny Alesund. He comes back through Helen’s door and something tugs at Martin’s stomach. Jealousy? He knows that’s ridiculous, but he feels it regardless. Jon is his, he already has to deal with Elias trying to take him, he doesn’t need more competition. 

Jon immediately stumbles into his office. He looks tired, probably from the time spent in the Spiral. He doesn’t see Martin standing in the Lonely, but he still mumbles something about “needing a statement,” so he can “feel better.”

Martin watches with a tight frown pulling at his mouth as Jon grabs a random statement, reads it with a hungry fervor, and then jumps straight into his work, muttering about deadlines and rituals and how he doesn’t have any time to sleep. And Martin realizes, no, he doesn’t _realize_ , he _Knows_ that Jon has gone off the deep end. He simply cannot be trusted to take care of himself. To keep himself safe. So Martin will have to do it for him.

It is ridiculously easy to reintegrate himself into the Archives. All it takes is a few cups of tea and some soothing pats on the back to convince his co-workers that no, he isn’t evil, he’s just been a bit busy. Still, as he moves around the Archives, he realizes that he doesn’t belong here, among the assistants, anymore. Basira, Melanie, and Daisy are so different from Sasha and Tim. They don’t joke around, they don’t leave the Archives for lunch. They have their own routines, their own dynamics. They don’t need Martin. That might be for the best, though, as Martin doesn’t need them either. 

It takes Martin a day to work up the courage to go into Jon’s office. He finds a statement that he knows Jon will like, makes him his favorite tea, and stands in front of his office door. A flush of embarrassment tries to rear up inside him, but he tampers it down. 

Martin is no longer the scared man with an overwhelming crush on his boss. He still loves Jon, he still wants him, but Martin is so much more now. He goes into the office and doesn’t bother knocking. 

Jon isn’t busy when Martin comes in. Martin Knew that he wouldn’t be. He sits at his desk, silhouetted by the last few leaking rays of light coming in through the window. In this half-darkness, he looks noble, his jaw strong and his hair artfully falling around his face. Martin breathes in. 

Jon turns in an instant. The light changes and he is once more Martin’s haggard, scarred Archivist. Martin wants to take Jon’s face in his hands and kiss him softly, as Jon’s eyes close against Martin’s palms. _Later_ , Martin tells himself. 

“Martin,” Jon says, his voice bright and hopeful. Martin is taken aback. It is so different than the tired “what-do-you-want-Martin” groan that Martin is used to. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

Martin shrugs and walks over to Jon. He puts the statement and tea down on the corner of Jon’s desk. 

“I brought a peace offering,” Martin says, gesturing to the items he’d just set down. 

Jon frowns. “Are we fighting?” he asks. 

“I’m sorry for not talking to you,” Martin says. “It was stupid of me. I was angry at you for going off without telling me but then I realized that you were just doing what I asked you to.” 

Jon shakes his head. “It’s alright,” he says. “I’m just…” he exhales. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

It hits Martin like a wave. The loneliness. His eyes unfocus for a moment and Jon is no longer Jon but a black hole of dark sadness. Martin blinks and he is Jon again but the feeling is still there. The intense loneliness. The isolation. He has been trapped, stuck with people whom he loves but who do not trust him, do not know him as he was and think of him only as a monster. Martin feels a bit drunk on it, this loneliness. It fills him like honey wine and he almost sways on his feet. 

He walks behind Jon and tentatively places a light hand on his shoulder. Jon shudders and then leans into the touch. Martin wonders when the last time was that anyone touched him. Martin puts his other hand on Jon’s other shoulder and begins to massage him. His shoulders feel like bricks they’re so tense. Jon tips his head back and closes his eyes, taking long deep breaths as Martin kneads out some of the tension. He feels the need, the desire for attention, for touch, for love, continue to radiate off of Jon and it makes him almost giddy with its intensity. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, not talking, before Jon leans forward and takes a sip of his tea. Martin watches with bated breath, but Jon simply smiles and sets it down. 

“Well,” Martin says. “I supposed I should get going. Let you get back to work.” 

He lifts his hands and heads for the door. 

“Wait!” Jon says, abruptly standing from his chair. He seems to catch himself because he sits back down. “You could, I mean, Daisy sometimes sits in here while I read the statements. It doesn’t affect her, or anything.” 

Martin turns back to Jon. He swallows the words of reassurance that sit on the tip of his tongue. He has to be strategic about this. He can’t give Jon what he wants, not yet. Martin pulls a sad smile onto his face, a facsimile of human emotion. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve got work to do.” 

Jon bristles, but it no longer affects Martin the way that it used to. He sees the sadness underneath, the loneliness and rejection. 

“Of course,” Jon says, keeping his voice dour and even. Martin gives him a small nod and exits the office. As his hand comes away from the doorknob, he notices a small bit of web sticking to his palm. 

He returns to Jon’s office that night after the rest of the staff has retired to the corners of the Institute where they sequester themselves while they pretend to sleep. He gives a cursory knock on Jon’s door but receives no answer. As Martin walks in, he idly thinks about how easy it is to poison someone once you have a years-long relationship with a foundation of trust. Jon sits slumped over, his head on his desk, resting on a half-read statement, next to a running tape recorder. Martin surreptitiously turns the record off before shaking Jon’s shoulder. 

“Jon,” he says. 

“Wassat–” Jon mumbles, sitting up. He looks at Martin and his eyes are cloudy. Martin can Tell that his mind is pliable and addled. “Martin,” he says, a dopey smile overtaking his face. “What’re you doing here?”

A fresh wave of love washes through Martin. “I came to check on you. Good thing I did, you fell asleep at your desk.” 

“Oh,” He looks down at his desk. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Martin smiles. He rubs Jon’s back gently. “I’ll walk you to bed if you like.” 

Jon, addled and pliable, returns the smile. He stands shakily, leaning on Martin for support. Martin guides him out of the office and up the stairs. 

“Where’re we going?” Jon mumbles into Martin’s shoulder. 

Martin feels a slight tingle from Jon’s questions. It is easy to brush away. “To my office,” he says. 

“But this is Elias’s office,” Jon says, still following Martin as Martin opens the door. 

Martin hums. “It was,” he says carefully. “But now it’s mine.” 

Jon snorts. “So what, are you like, my boss now?” 

Martin places a gentle hand on Jon’s scarred cheek. “I suppose,” he says, then pushes, not with his hands but with his mind, pushes Jon into his carefully curated version of the Lonely, one that will not drain Jon completely, but is a deliberate configuration of Knowing and Webbing and Lonesomeness and most importantly Martin that will keep Jon safe, secure, and hidden. 

Jon falls, but only for a moment, before he lands in a soft bed that smells like Martin’s jumpers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something is screaming that this is very wrong but that part is quickly smothered by soft silk. Jon sleeps better than he has in years. 

Martin sits behind his desk, eyes open, fog surrounding his ankles, spiders scuttling through his steepled fingers, and gets to work. 

Jon wakes slowly. He wipes at his eyes and cobwebs stick to his fingers. He knows this is strange but he can’t seem to mind. It feels inevitable somehow. He climbs out of bed and surveys his surroundings. He can’t see too far in front of him, the fog is too thick. He can barely See at all, in fact. 

The room is an abstraction of a cozy apartment. There is a small kitchen but on further inspection, the refrigerator is empty and warm, the stove will not start, and all of the silverware is dull. The television only shows static. There are blank books with beautiful covers and rounded edges. The only thing that seems to be functional is a stack of board games in one of the cabinets, but Jon cannot play a board game by himself. 

He sits on the soft sofa and wraps himself in a hand-knitted quilt. He looks at the blank television. Shouldn’t he be at work? Doesn’t he have things to do? He tries to open his Eyes but is met with stinging pain. He shouldn’t be here. He should be in the archives. Is he in the archives? 

He feels a crawling sensation on the back of his neck and falls asleep once more. 

Martin knows that Jon will need to eat. He plans to slowly wean him off of live statements, until he will only need a written statement a few times a week to stay healthy, but until then, it is a necessary evil. There are few things that are not necessary evils when it comes to keeping Jon safe. 

Martin takes a walk to a nice street market that he likes, where he can pick up nice groceries in all their many forms. He finds artisan tea, freshly baked bread, cage-free eggs, organic fruit, and a slightly bewildered construction worker that had a run-in with Michael Crew who no one will miss. 

He steps into his Lonely easily. He’s quite proud of it, it looks like the apartment he would daydream about moving into with Jon years ago when he was supposed to be working. It isn’t finished yet, of course, but all things in good time. 

Jon sleeps peacefully on the couch, webs covering his eyes and fog blinding his Eyes. A spider crawls out of his mouth and skitters down his neck, disappearing under his shirt. Fog wraps around his wrists, ankles, and chest. 

Martin quietly puts the kettle on and makes preparations for a nice dinner. Once everything is cooking, and won’t need his attention for a while, he sends a wall of fog up around the kitchen. Wouldn’t want Jon to wander in and hurt himself. 

Martin places the webbed up construction worker, named Daniel Tyler (Martin never trusted people with two first names), at the dining table, then sits on the sofa next to Jon. He reaches over and carefully peels the webbing off of Jon’s eyes, tugging on a thread to wake him up. 

“Mm…” Jon says, blinking. “Martin?” 

Martin smiles. He maneuvers the questions out of Jon’s mind, killing them before they reach his tongue. 

“Hello Jon,” he says gently as if he was talking to a stray cat he wanted to befriend. He wonders if Jon would like a cat. He could find him one. Martin Knows that Georgie had a cat Jon likes, maybe he can bring that one over for Jon to play with. 

Jon stares at Martin, his eyebrows knitting together. The force of the questions burns at Martin’s webs. Martin frowns and pushes back, which confuses Jon. 

“Where am I?” Jon says, not unkindly but with force. 

“You’re safe,” Martin says. A tactful non-answer. “Are you hungry?” 

Jon’s face smooths out a bit. He nods. Martin pulls the fog out of Jon’s Eyes a bit, and he immediately perks up. He turns on a dime to face Daniel, the Archivist shadowing over Jon. But not completely. Not anymore. 

Martin smiles a bit. He tunes out the Statement, he doesn’t want to impede on Jon’s Knowing. Rather, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a bit of knitting. He’s thinking of making Jon a new jumper. All of his old ones are singed and tattered. 

When he is finished, the Archivist is sated and tired, easy to rebind. Martin seeps more fog into the Eyes, blinding them further, testing how far he can go. 

Jon’s voice is rusty as he thanks Daniel. He stands shakily and walks back to the couch. Martin stands and walks to the dining table. 

“You can let yourself out,” he smiles at him. 

Daniel stands and begins to walk into the fog. Martin does not wish to Know where he goes, but from the cold feeling at the bottom of his spine, he knows his Patron is pleased. 

Martin hums contentedly and walks back to the kitchen to finish dinner. Even though neither he nor Jon needs to eat anymore, Martin has always enjoyed cooking and longs for the quiet domesticity of having dinner with his loved one. 

Martin sets the stirfry sizzling on the stove, but is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of quiet weeping. He frowns and walks back into the living room. 

“Jon?” Martin asks. 

Jon sits on the couch, the quilt pulled up to his chin, tears falling softly down his face. 

“Jon?” Martin says again, sitting down next to him. “Are you alright?” 

“I…” Jon mumbles. “I just pulled it out of him. I cracked his mind open like, like an _oyster…_ ” he turns to Martin, his eyes red and puffy. “Martin,” he says softly. “Martin you have to kill me.” 

Martin wasn’t surprised, but he was taken aback. 

“Oh, Jon,” he says, voice breaking. 

Jon reaches for him desperately. “Martin please. I’m a monster. I’m not human anymore you have to kill me please–”

Martin feels almost drunk on the loneliness, the self-hatred and sadness falling off of Jon in waves. 

He takes Jon’s hands in his. “Jon Sims,” Martin says. “You are the, the most… beautiful, kind, fantastic man I have ever known. You are so heartbreakingly human, and if you were a monster… it… it wouldn’t hurt so much.” 

Martin’s near-forgotten heart hammers in his chest. He expects Jon to rebuff him, to balk at his display of emotion. 

But Jon simply looks at him. Martin opens his mouth to say something, to pull the threads so that Jon forgets the whole thing ever happened when Jon’s lips crash into his. 

The kiss is messy and surprising. Both of them are obviously out of practice, but what they lack in technique they more than make up for in hungry enthusiasm. Martin leans into Jon, knitting his fingers in Jon’s hair, pressing them closer together. Jon’s mouth is warm and his lips are salty from the tears. He tastes of cinnamon and coffee. His fingers are shaky and nimble but they wrap around Martin’s waist with confidence. 

Martin’s body burns as his humanity surfaces in full force. He is overtaken, inundated, consumed by _Jon, Jon, Jon_. 

He forces himself to break the kiss. He fears that he will lose himself in the indulgence of it all. For this to work, Martin must remain in control. 

He would become a monster ten times over if it meant that Jon would stay himself. 

Martin stands, regaining composure. He presses a gentle kiss to Jon’s temple, and when his lips come away he finds himself connected to Jon by a string of sparkling cobweb. It softly falls away, consumed by the fog that coats the floor. 

“Come on,” Martin says. “Dinner is almost ready.” 

People notice, of course. Martin Knew they would, but somehow he is still surprised when Basira bursts into his office. 

“Jon’s gone,” she says, eyes wild. 

Martin regards her with mild interest. 

“Is he?” he responds. 

“Yes,” Basira says. “At first I thought he was just… off being creepy, but no one has seen him for days. I called Georgie, she doesn’t know where he is either. We tore his office apart, but there was nothing, no indicator of where he might have gone, what he might be _doing_. I’m this close to interrogating Elias–”

Martin raises an eyebrow. He Knows that Elias has an Idea of what he has done, but he would prefer to give him as little information as possible regardless. 

“I didn’t realize you cared so much,” he says to Basira. 

She stops in her tracks. “Of course I, er, I, he–I don’t know what he’s doing. He might be hurting people.” 

“He’s not hurting anyone,” Martin says dismissively. He picks up a stack of papers and shuffles them for no reason other than to make Basira feel like a pest. An image of Elias doing the same thing flashes in his mind. He brushes it off, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth nonetheless. “He’s fine.” 

“You know where he is?” Basira says. 

Martin shrugs. “Of course. He’s… investigating the web.”

“Why didn’t he tell us?” 

Martin smiles. “I believe… he didn’t think you would be interested.” Every word is a needle in a pressure point. “Not after how you reacted last time.” 

Basira bristles. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” 

He picks up a random piece of paper and begins to study it intensely. It’s last weeks artefact storage scheduling list, but Basira doesn’t need to know that. After a moment, he looks up over the paper at the still scowling Basira. 

“Do you need something?” he asks, sickly sweet. Her scowl deepens, but she leaves. 

The hairs on the back of Martin’s neck prick up. 

“Impressive,” the jolly voice of Peter Lukas says. 

Martin suppresses an eye-roll. He turns to his computer, continuing his actual scheduling work. He Knows that Peter doesn’t intend to tell him anything important. 

“Though I do wonder what you plan to do with our darling Archivist,” Peter continues. 

Martin scowls. “He’s not our anything,” he hisses. “He’s _mine_. And whatever I’m doing on my own time is for me to decide.”

Peter looks at him for a moment, then shrugs. “I suppose,” he says. “Now, I got another email about that Nigerian Prince, are you sure that isn’t something I should be concerned about?”

Time passes strangely for Jon. He doesn’t bother trying to count the days, he has no windows and rarely goes a full day without napping or losing time. He doesn’t mind. He sort of enjoys the foggy haze, it’s so much easier. He spends most of his time alone, sitting on the couch, in a sort of waking dream. Before he would never be able to sit for so long without mental stimulation, but nowadays… 

It’s hard, without Martin. When Martin is with him, he’s so much more. It’s easier to think, he doesn’t feel so muddled. He’s happier. The sick feeling in his stomach dissipates (or it’s so buried he can’t feel it). Martin brought him a book once, to read when he was gone, but Jon couldn’t do it. He would stare at the pages and his head would hurt and his eyes would cloud with web and he became so upset, so angry, that he tore the pages from the book in a confused fervor. Martin kissed him, cleaned up, and didn’t mention it again. 

Sometimes Jon found strange messages. First, it was papers from the empty books, with shaking handwriting messages. 

_RUN_

_DON’T TRUST HIM_

_U ARE NOT YRSELF_

_ARCHIVIST RUN_

Before he could comprehend them, he had fallen asleep. When he awoke, the empty books could no longer be opened, and all of the writing utensils were gone. 

He sees other messages, written with torn up clothes, spelled out with scrabble tiles, and once, accompanied by a broken table leg, written in blood on the white cabinet door. 

But Martin tells him not to be concerned, and he isn’t. He tells him everything is alright, and it is. He Asks him, earnestly, desperately, if Jon loves him, and he does. And that is all that matters, isn’t it? 

One day, after beating Martin at Scrabble (again, their score is 56-2), Jon asks: “I’m not myself, am I?”

He does not Ask. He doesn’t know if he can, anymore. Martin still brings him statements, but they are old, written accounts. 

“No,” Martin says. He pets Jon’s hair. “I’m sorry.” He sounds heartbroken. 

Jon does not want Martin to be sad. He kisses the pads of his fingers. “It’s alright,” he says. 

Martin sighs. He doesn’t say anything. Jon doesn’t bring it up again. 

Later, Martin brings Jon a cat. 

Georgie storms into Martin’s office, Melanie at her heels. Martin worries about Melanie. He had not been expecting her to be the most resistant to his influence. But, despite their growing similarities, Martin was not Elias, and he did not underestimate anyone. 

“Martin Blackwood!” Georgie hollers. “Where is my friend, and _where. Is. My. Cat?!_ ” 

Martin looks up at her placidly. “What do you mean?” 

“Cut the bullshit, Martin,” Melanie says. “We all know that you… stole Jon–”

“Oh,” Martin says, over exaggeratedly. “Jon? Jon is your friend? I didn’t realize. See, I thought you all abandoned him to either become a monster or to get himself killed.” He turns to Georgie. “You didn’t even notice he was missing. After Basira called you asking where he was, you barely thought of him until you called Melanie asking after the Admiral.”

Georgie glares. “I’m not afraid of you,” she says. 

Martin smiles. “I’m painfully aware,” he says. 

“Did you kill him?” Melanie asks. 

Martin sighs. “No, Melanie, I did not kill Jon. I didn’t kill the cat either.” A spider skittered over his hand. “And I think that it would be best if you both just… dropped this line of investigation. Forget about Jon. Get another cat. There are hundreds just waiting to be adopted.”

Melanie's eyes glaze over, reflections of webs shining in her pupils, but Georgie opens her mouth to say something else. 

Martin exhales. “ _Please leave,_ ” he says, the command like a tidal wave. “I have work to do.” The two of them turn silently on their heels and exit the office. Martin makes a mental note to deal with that more thoroughly later.

He returns to his computer. It is unexpectedly easy to “cook the books” as it were, implicating Peter in all sorts of things. One would think that people would stop making the mistake of underestimating Martin, but here he is with all of Peter’s computer passwords. He doesn’t intend to keep Peter in prison, chains can’t hold him the way they can Elias. He simply wants to send a message. The Institute is Martin’s now. And Martin has always been a bit… territorial. 

He wonders if anyone could have predicted this role reversal. Martin, the ruthless monster presiding over the Institute, and Jon, his empathetic confidant whose arms he runs to to get away from it all. 

They sit on the couch, Martin’s head in Jon’s lap, as Jon cards his hands through Martin’s hair. There are webs on Jon’s wrists and temples. Fog in his ears and around his ankles. He hums tunelessly, his eyes out of focus. 

“I would give it all back,” Martin says, too soft to pull Jon out of his trance. “If I could. If it was safe. Even if it made you hate me. I know you would hate me.” He bites his lip. “But I couldn’t… I can’t… I can’t watch you destroy yourself. I couldn’t let you kill yourself for Elias, let you lose yourself for him. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Jon smiles thoughtlessly. “It’s alright,” he mumbles. “I love you.”

Martin closes his eyes. 

“Say that again?” he asks. He closes his eyes. 

“I love you, Martin,” Jon rumbles. 

Martin pretends, for a moment, that things are normal, that they are normal boyfriends in a normal apartment leading a normal life. Martin pretends that he is not a monster, that he deserves Jon’s love. He pretends that Jon, whatever true part of him is left, understands. 

“I’m tired,” Jon says. 

“Let’s go to bed then,” Martin responds. They get up from the couch and walk over to the bed. Jon scoops up the Admiral, who is sitting on his pillow, batting at a ball of spider silk. 

“Hello, Admiral,” he says, burying his face in the cat’s fur. “I love you.” 

The cat meows back at him. Jon releases him and climbs into bed. 

Martin thinks about Georgie, reluctantly webbed up in her apartment because she just wouldn’t quit. He thinks of the last words Elias said to him before he had him transferred to a maximum-security underground facility offshore, where no one could find him. _“Well, Martin, it seems I underestimated you yet again. At least I know the Institute is in good hands.”_ He thinks of Melanie, Basira, and Daisy, all rotating who took down the written statements, having forgotten they ever had a head archivist. 

But then he thinks of Jon. Jon in those rare moments where he peaks through. Who he was before. When he lays out some word that Martin has never heard before but is worth 60 points in scrabble. When he comments on what poets that Martin’s work reminds him of. When he tells short (because that’s all he can manage) stories about his life before the Institute. When he lets out a wry, sharp joke that has Martin keeling over with laughter. When he tells Martin he loves him, and it sounds so, so close to being real. 

Martin climbs into bed, next to Jon. He wraps around him, burying his head in Jon’s shoulders. Jon is already fast asleep, the webbed blindfold pulled over his eyes. Martin lays, staring into the fog, and wishes for rest that he knows he will never get.

**Author's Note:**

> hnnnng y'all i love monster martin so much. 
> 
> thanks for reading! drop a comment if you enjoyed! tumblr is @ipretwins 
> 
> <3 <3 <3


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